


The Dawn

by Aly_H



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Before the Celebrations begin, Brooding, Brothers, Gen, Post-Game, Pre-Trespasser, War Table Operation: Protect Clan Lavellan (Dragon Age) - Failure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-09-07 05:19:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16847893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aly_H/pseuds/Aly_H
Summary: The battle is over, things are beginning to return to…well, not return to normal because nothing will ever be the same again for the Lavellan brothers and Haleir Lavellan takes some time to brood in private over this fact before joining the revelry - at least until Taralyn comes to find him.





	The Dawn

“I believe you just saved the world, shouldn’t you be in there celebrating?”

He glanced sideways to the red haired elf who leaned himself against the wall. His forearms taking his weight.

“I’ll go soon,” he answered.

He looked up to the sky, the scar glowing like the Southern lights he’d watched one night in the Fallow Mire, miserable, soaked and bug-bit from looking for their lost scouts in a swamp. He wasn’t sure that the scar was as beautiful, the way it shifted was more unsettling than the graceful dance. The way a serpent moved through grass…

Maybe he’d spent too long looking over his shoulder?

Taralyn, of all people, didn’t remark on his muted presence currently. He suspected his brother understood far more about how much of his foolishness was shield, armor and barrier against the world and its woes than he was willing to let on.

“…it’s over,” he said at last. “…what will you do now?”

The question hung in the air heavy between them. A mistake, an order given in fear and haste without considering every consequence. Clan Lavellan – the elves of Wycome – were no more. It was a weight that Haleir felt each day, one he could not permit himself to lay down even as the sharpest edges of grief began to wear away.

“The University of Orlais,” Taralyn spoke at last. He no longer placed the blame on Hal’s shoulders for what had happened, but as the anger faded the pain and loss became that much easier to hear. “They permit elven students on occasion, and I believe I can pass their entry requirements with little hassle. I will study the Dales and the lost empire. Perhaps in their records some understanding of the foci can be found.”

The Mark flared softly with light as if its presence being remarked upon awoke it.

He grimaced and flexed his hand slowly. Old aches and new making his fingers stiffer than he’d like to admit. He set it back on the stone as if the cold didn’t bother him.

Warmth flooded his touch however – beneath Taralyn’s touch a fire bloomed, warming the rock to a soothing temperature. He raised a brow at his brother – where had he learned that trick? And blast him – how much did he know that he’d rather Tara _not_ be aware of?

“You’ll do great.”

“Assuming I can keep out of the Circle versus College politics,” Taralyn huffed a laugh. “And avoid the Game.”

“You haven’t ‘avoided’ the Game since you arrived here. You’ll do fine.”

“I’ll come back if you need me to.”

“Why would I need you to do anything?”  Haleir pulled back, narrowing his eyes and affecting an imperious tone. “You might not have noticed ‘big brother’ but I’m Inquisitor – savior of Thedas, the Maker’s Newest Bride.”

That got a laugh, low and short but real from Taralyn. “That’s not one of your titles.”

“I know, gotta write a song for that one.”

“Haleir,” the tone of a brother’s long suffering defeat made him grin and elbow Taralyn lightly.

“Go see your Vint. He’ll miss you if you take too long.”

“The only thing Dorian would miss is his own reflection,” Tara snorted.

Hal hid his wince - _whoops_ \- still sore about being left behind in the South, then.

Not that he could blame Taralyn – he wanted to support Dorian, make sure that the altus stayed safe. Hal could, however, understand Dorian’s refusal to bring Tara. Both practically – Tara was an elf, powerful mage or no his pointed ears put him in even more danger in Tevinter than they did in the Orlesian court – and politically – coming back North he’d be followed by rumors of Inquisition manipulation no matter what Dorian did and bringing the Inquisitor’s brother as a lover would certainly solidify those.

“You’re wrong, ya know,” he said, shoving his brother none too gently towards the stairs. “He’s probably pulling his mustache out worrying that you’re cross with him again – nevermind I _saw_ that kiss on the battlefield.”

“You saw _nothing_ ,” Tara glowered at him, but turned to head down the steps anyways. Stopping to add, “If you’re not coming with I’ll just send Bull out here to collect you instead.”

“Ach,” he grimaced, having no wish to be picked up and carried to the party like a sack of flour because he was being dour. He started down the stairs after his brother, shooing him forward. “Fine, I’m coming. You’ve been spending too much time with Orlesians. When did you learn how to blackmail, anyways?”

“Extortion, not blackmail, Haleir.”


End file.
